


Level up

by pleasebekidding



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't what Jeremy meant by 'level up', but whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Level up

Jeremy hears the knock on the door but he doesn’t look up from his console. The door never knocks for him. He has to beg for Vicki’s time and she’s off with a bunch of college boys she knows and Jeremy’s met and Jeremy _hates_ and he knows, knows, they put their hands on her, their mouths on her. Other things too.

On the television screen Jeremy kicks the fuck out of a knight who looks a lot like, and also nothing like the guy in the pink shirt he watched Vicki make out with at that stupid party last week. Kick, kick, broken neck.

The knock on the door persists, and Jenna flies down the stairs on her way out to school; she opens it without hearing the knock, calling out to Jeremy that she’s leaving, and then there is a shriek.

Jeremy still doesn’t look up because the door is never for him.

Jenna shrieks, not expecting anyone to be on the other side of the door, and she laughs and mutters and she calls out; “I’m off; Lena’s at Stefan’s so if you leave, lock the door;” and the door clicks shut and Jeremy still doesn’t look up.

Dragon defeated, the screens start to progress, and then he does look up, and Tyler is standing there, arms crossed, incredulous look on his face.

Jeremy flinches and looks away again. “Vicki’s not here, man,” he says.

“I know.” Tyler sits on the couch. “Switch to two-player.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes but he does what he’s told because arguing with Tyler is never worth it. At best you get an earful of profanity, poorly thought out, grammatically incorrect, but intended to be insulting, and that’s depressing, and enough to give anyone a headache. At worst, you get a football boot to the kidney. Tyler takes the second controller.

There’s an hour which is silent except the shrieking of monsters on screen and occasional shouted directions: “Ty, left, flank him - faster, no, kick!” “I lost you, Jer -“ “I’m on his neck. Hacking off his head, watch, it’ll -“ “SICK.”

“Level up,” Jeremy calls, and raises a hand for a high five but Tyler one-ups him, launching himself across the couch, inelegant sprawl, inelegant mouths mashed together, knees and elbows seemingly everywhere. Jeremy thinks he feels a clash of teeth but he ignores it in favor of deciding what he is expected to do next; Tyler will freak out in a second, most likely, and land a punch to Jeremy’s jaw, remind him for the twelfth time in eight weeks that he is decidedly _not_ a fag - or maybe it’s time to advance the plot. Still, speaking sounds risky, and putting a name to this might result in a broken nose, a chipped tooth.

This isn’t what Jeremy meant by ‘level up’, but whatever.

Jeremy submits because it’s all he can do, for now; but because he and Tyler just killed a dragon together, and because Tyler has pulled Jeremy’s t-shirt off over his head, he decides to risk a hand on the back of Tyler’s neck, fingers questing up into his hairline, holding Tyler’s face to Jeremy’s own for a longer moment than he would usually dare.

Tyler kisses harder, but slower, somehow, less his usual desperate clawing, draws back to pull off his own shirt, and that’s interesting; he still won’t meet Jeremy’s eyes, but this is definitely progress. Skin on skin. Jeremy is hard, and for a moment he’s embarrassed; but as Tyler grinds his hips down, he realizes he’s not the only one.

 _Definitely_ progress.

Every cell in Jeremy’s body screams _go upstairs, go upstairs_ but he’s not going to push it, especially with Tyler tearing at his belt, wrenching his jeans down over his hips. Tyler shifts, suddenly, pulls Jeremy’s erection from the flimsy cotton of his boxers, and begins to stroke, and it’s better than Jeremy imagined; anything’s better than your own hand, night after night, but Tyler knows what he’s doing, definitely, and Jeremy can’t help it when a cry is wrenched from his throat.

This is it, this will be the moment when that fist crosses his jaw. But no. Instead Tyler seals his mouth over Jeremy’s cock.

 _Don’t say his name, don’t say his name_ but Tyler’s name is wrestled from Jeremy’s mouth anyway, torn from it: “Tyler.” Still no fist across the jaw, just mouth and tongue and Tyler’s hands firmly gripping Jeremy’s hips, Jeremy’s hands in Tyler’s hair, across the back of his neck.

It’s too good. There’s no way to stop. One of Tyler’s hands snakes up over Jeremy’s chest, lightly playing across the lithe muscle, twisting  just exactly hard enough at one exquisitely sensitive nipple.

“Ty… I’m gonna…”

Tyler doesn’t shift, just sucks and licks and teases, until Jeremy comes in his mouth in rapid, hot jets; he swallows, swallows everything Jeremy has to offer, his throat still working long after Jeremy is spent.

When he moves, it is to place his head on Jeremy’s stomach and breathe, until the breathing settles. Jeremy traces the shell of Tyler’s ear and asks himself again how the fuck this ever started to happen, and how to move from here to point C.

Level up.

Tyler draws himself to seated, then, with a shocked expression on his face, a mild blush. Shame? Still no eye contact. Jeremy lies weakened by the aftershocks for a long moment, still expecting that fist to connect with his jaw, but Tyler is pulling his t-shirt back over his head.

Jeremy pulls his jeans up, re-buckles his belt. Collects his t-shirt off the ground and pulls it on, still shaking. He won’t dare a look at Tyler. Tyler, who has a controller in his hand, navigating the screens, and is paler than he ought to be, shaking a little as well.

Jeremy takes the other controller and in a moment, a new battalion of trolls is preparing to attack them. They fight, silently, side by side, there on the couch.

Tyler speaks eventually.

“I’m not a fag,” he says.

Jeremy nods. “I know.”

They defeat the trolls, but Jeremy suspects - no, he knows - that it will be several further rounds of fighting before they level up again.

He’s prepared to wait.


End file.
